


The Sheriff's Son

by DarkAthena (seraphim_grace)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Anal Sex, BDSM, Biting, Bottom Derek, Bottom Stiles, Concordance AU, Dom!Derek, F/M, Fantasy, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mentions of Voyeurism, Multi, Oral Sex, Other, PWP, Polyamory, Rimming, Threesome, Toys, collaring, consensual drug use, mentions of institutionalised BDSM, sub!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 08:43:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphim_grace/pseuds/DarkAthena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles' father goes missing after a battle he is captured by Derek who offers him a bargain, become his submissive because Derek needs a valet not a bedmate, and Derek will help him find the Sheriff. <br/>These are scenes from a universe that grew on it's own without a strong narrative until I had written several of these. Each chapter stands alone as a vignette and so are a bit PWP</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Sheriff's Son (a fantasy BDSM AU)

**Author's Note:**

> I previously posted these as part of the Teen Wolf Short fics but they proved popular enough with both readers and the muse that I had to give them their own verse  
> these take place mainly AFTER a great story that I haven't written where Kate captured Derek and stiles and tortured them both to make them break a bond they put in place to thwart her, but got together during their imprisonment, when Kate tried to kill Stiles and her own men turned on her (you don't hurt another person's submissive) where Derek serves as Laura's war leader and Laura plans to marry Deucalion politically.  
> These are in chronological order but stand alone because they are not so much stories as vignettes of a world where Kate has the interesting narrative and I haven't written that yet.

Derek Hale, Lord Commander and Prince of Vlk, was stood over the day's reports, spread in front of him on a campaign table, over maps, when the boy was brought in front of him. The boy was slender, not yet to his full man's growth, with dark hair and warm eyes, his mouth was thin but expressive and his nose slightly turned up. He was an attractive youth, even without being bound, but the black ropes around the boy's wrists was truly an impressive sight. It was possible to see beside them a submissive's band, but the boy was uncollared. "We caught the looter, my lord." His guard said as he dragged the boy in. Somewhere in the scuffle the boy's clothes, well made and tailored to fit, had become dishevelled and there was a flash of a pale soft stomach and a line of dark hair where they had rucked up.

"I wasn't looting." The boy said and tried, even with his hands bound to bring himself up to standing, adjusting his tunic.

"Then why were you on the field amongst the day's dead?" The guard asked looking as if he was about to cuff the boy, an uncollared submissive could be subject to anyone's justice and the boy knew it, but his eyes and lips narrowed with rage. He didn't answer.

"Speak." Derek said finally.

"I was looking for my father." He said. "You can't hang me for looting if I haven't got anything from the dead."

"He didn't seem to take anything," the guard admitted, "he was just turning the bodies, he didn't drop anything when we ran after him."

"Leave us." Derek said to the guard, who clipped his boots together in a quick salute.

The boy tried to stare Derek down, but the very idea was ludicrous, that a mere submissive, albeit an enticing one, might look at the Lord Commander like he was lesser, so Derek met his stare until the boy was forced to lower his eyes, his thin lips twisting with rage that he couldn't express other than by kicking at the carpet. "What is your father's name?"

The boy startled at that, he expected something, perhaps death for being found on the field at night after the battle, looters were not tolerated by either army, but a kindness, he had not seen that coming, or perhaps he simply didn't recognise it as such. "Stilinski," the boy said proudly, "my father was sheriff of the town that was raided, I," he stopped, "I needed to see if he was amongst the dead."

Derek leafed through the reports, double checking before he spoke. "I do not have him on the lists of the dead." The boy visibly deflated, as if someone had let all the air out of him in a single gesture. "I don't know where he is, but he's not here."

"I," the boy stopped, "I, when the armies came, he told me to hide, I," he fussed with the gold band on his wrist, "I was in the medical tent, I was helping, I."

"You are unbonded." Derek did not intend it as a question as he sat down in one of the chairs that littered the tent. Laura had said ruling was as much about image as skill, if people did not take the way that you looked seriously they would not obey so Derek had the trappings of his position as much as he didn't want them.

"I'm of age." The boy stammered instead.

"That's not what I asked." Derek said in a low slow tone.

"My father," he stopped. "No, I am not bonded."

Derek scratched the scruff on his chin and looked at the boy, appraising him as an adult, as an unbonded submissive in the middle of an army camp, the boy was attractive, pretty rather than handsome, and young, untouched by his reaction, but wild, spoiled and completely unbroken. Derek tried to remember what the reports said about the Sheriff and his family, he remembered that he was considered a good man, loyal and fierce, he had had many children but lost almost all to the plague, and then his wife in childbirth years later. This must be the remaining child, Derek thought, a submissive who survived where the dominants did not. The gods had a strange sense of humour, he thought. A dominant would make a powerful tool for his army, he could brandish a dominant as one of his knights, bring the loyalty of the area in with a single act, but a submissive.

"You are in a very precarious position, boy." Derek said, "you are lucky my men did not hang you on principle."

The boy had nothing to say to that, but he didn't crumple the way many submissives would have at the threat, he just set his jaw, tightening his teeth and the skin around his eyes. The boy simply no idea of his worth, but Derek was Lord Commander by birth, tempered by the murder of his family, but still young himself, prone to make mistakes. He could already tell that this boy was a mistake, or very well could be. He would be a glorious error though.

"You are even luckier that they did not take advantage of an unbonded submissive in their ranks." Submissives could, and did, hold positions in the army, no pair fought fiercer than that of dominant and submissive stood side by side, but unbonded a submissive was often seen as meat for any unbonded dominant, and they were usually unbonded because no submissive would choose them. Every group of dominants would have at least one unprincipled asshole, and this boy was a temptation in flesh. The very aspect that made him unprincipled and defiant would make his submission that much more.

The boy did stutter at that, it was just a flash, before he closed himself up like a fan, apart from the hand worrying the gold submissive bracelet on his wrist. Submissives were proud of it, and the fact that it was gold and not copper or tin reassured Derek that the boy was who he said he was, his father had some wealth to dress the boy so well and to give him gold and not copper or tin. "What is your name?" Derek stood up, went to the table with the reports and poured out two cups of the wine that was stoppered there.

"Stiles," the boy said, "no one can pronounce my name, they call me Stiles." Derek nodded and then offered one of the cups to Stiles but made no effort to untie his wrists.

"Well then, Stiles, you present a very dangerous proposition. I could let you go, you have committed no crime." Stiles swallowed, but took none of the wine, even when Derek himself did. "But then you would be meat for any who wanted you, and your father was a good man, I think we can come to an arrangement."

"I don't want that." Stiles said then, angry again, staring at Derek like he was an equal.

"You don't know what I'm offering." Derek swallowed the wine, chasing the taste on his lips with the tip of his tongue, watching the boy watch him.

"You want me to bend over, I'm not stupid." The boy said.

"No, I don't." Derek said, "In Vlk a submissive is honoured for choosing to submit, simply taking you offers nothing. I'm offering you my collar, to serve as valet and submissive to me in exchange for your safety and what knowledge I can find of your father. If we find him, you may choose to return to his service." Stiles took a sip of the wine, and then coughed as Derek continued to talk. "I can have a hundred submissives in my bed by morning, each more eager than the last to be there, I don't need a bedmate." He said firmly. He didn't need one, but the boy was a tempting prospect and he could easily be seduced. "I need someone trust worthy to fetch my meals, to prepare my clothes and armour, and in exchange you become the honoured submissive of a Prince of Vlk, and any man who even looks at you without my permission can hang." It wasn't a threat as much as a show of dominance, a Prince of Vlk could very easily hang a man in his charge for no reason but that he wanted. "My collar is a promise."

"That can't be all you want." Even now the boy was defiant, it was glorious but Derek did nothing more than smirk.

"I do not mind your sass, boy, but remember I have a position to hold, I am Lord Commander of this army," he let the implications settle in, "and you must obey me in public. I do not want a submissive, I need a valet and it will give me time to stop my sister's badgering that I take on. In exchange you get to look for your father with all the forces of Vlk."

"And I don't have to?" he swallowed, looking into the cup now, and not meeting Derek's gaze, it was not a submissive gesture, just a nervous one.

Derek grinned at that, "Not unless you want to."


	2. A discussion about Dominants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of those ideas that my muse gets which builds a world and then never gives me a plot for, seriously if i ever get an actual story to tell in this verse it will be awesome, but it hasn't happened yet.  
> the idea here is Laura asks Stiles why Peter has been out of sorts lately. I have an idea for a third one in this verse, possibly a 3some between lydia, peter and isaac, and a seduction between laura and deucalion, with him smelling her hair, I dunno, the verse is rich and detailed, the narrative - still absent  
> quick, someone give me some conflict there.

Laura was stood at the window of her small office, not the official one but the smaller one she actually used on her uncle's urging, when her brother and his submissive came in. Her office was decorated with small tapestries and carpets, with a heavy desk with drawers for her papers and a telling ink stain across the blotter, it made her more comfortable than the more ornate formal office she only used to meet people that she needed to impress with wealth.

Derek, her brother, looked like he had been recently roused from his bed and poured, still mostly asleep, into his boots and dressed without his knowledge, but he wore the royal black and silver well, even if he did need to shave. At his side his submissive, at least was well presented, with his silver collar almost hidden under a high collar that did nothing to hide the marks on his neck. It was typically only dominants that wore high collars in her court. Most submissives wore their marks and collar with pride, with low scooping necklines that showed their collar bones, but her brother's submissive was unusual at best. Or perhaps it was that her brother was simply jealous.

"You wanted to see me?" Derek asked, his hand almost unconsciously moving to take that of his submissive. Laura's own hands were empty. She simply could not afford the time and distraction of a submissive, no matter how lonely she was.

"Yes, I wanted to know if you knew what was bothering our uncle?" she asked, pushing down the stab of jealousy that she felt. She did not want the boy, he was good for her brother and if she sometimes ached at the small smile that lurked in the corners of her brother's mouth it was no one's business but her own. She was the Alpha of Vlk, there were more important things than her own happiness.

Derek looked at his boy, who licked his bruise of a mouth. "My lady, might I speak?" he asked his voice quietly deferent. Laura was surprised by that, she had heard that behind closed doors the boy was a spitfire and not afraid, at all, to put her brother in his place. She assumed when he finally did speak to her it would be with the same familiarity and ease, he was her brother's boy after all. Derek nodded to suggest that she listen at least.

"I have discussed this at length with my dominant," the formal words sounded strange on his tongue, "and most dominants, my own included, make the same mistake, and so even an Alpha can be found culpable." Laura narrowed her eyes in anger, "I think it is a fault in education not personality but that is another argument entirely." He smiled at her, and his eyes were soft in the light like honey and butter. "Dominants spend years training their submissives to be invisible, and then they make the terrible error of forgetting that we are there." Laura thought about it for a moment, there had been many times when she herself had been startled when a previously silent submissive sneezed or hiccoughed.

"Because you forget that we are there, because we are trained to be invisible and you are trained to ignore us assuming that we are in deep submission if we have been left there, or simply a punishment," he flicked his eyes across to Derek, "that you forget that we can hear you, and hear a lot of what is going on in the court. Then unless we are to make a show we do not eat with dominants, but in another room with the other submissives where we gossip, just like dominants do." He offered her a smile, "there is an axiom amongst submissives that we are the ones with the power because we are the ones who rule you, we guide you to make your decisions but make you think that you do."

She had heard that before but she had never really realised the truth of it. The submissives as a whole were so deferent and eager to please she had not even considered that they might be guiding and teasing their dominants into positions that suited the submissive.

"Then what is it you have learned, submissive?" she used the old language to address him and his long thin fingers found their way to his silver collar in a show of pride that brought that small smile to her brother's mouth, and squeeze the other hand, the one he held within his own a little tighter. It had been two years and the boy still took pride in his title.

"You wonder what is wrong with your uncle, but have you asked his submissive? The one who shares his meals and his bed and his most intimate confessions? Isaac is," he stopped looking for the word, "mercurial but he is loyal and if he thinks it will please his dominant he would slaughter the court in his name." That was known, Isaac had been trained as a soldier under Peter's watchful eye, and he was loyal above all else to the man who had saved him from his father.

"I admit that I did not think to." Laura moved away from the window and sat heavily in her office chair.

"It is a common problem with dominants, you are trained to hide your feelings sothat none other than your submissive might see them, so you never think to simply ask what is wrong." The boy had a point as much as Laura did not care to admit it.

"But yet," Laura said looking at the boy, at her brother and then back to the mark on his neck, "you know, don't you?"

"I do," the boy admitted, "because I asked Isaac, who was upset, what was wrong."

"If my uncle is unhappy he is more likely to turn his loyalty away from me." Laura said, "and only one other stands between him and my throne, since Cora rejected her place when she married, so tell me, submissive, what is it that upsets him so?"

The boy sighed, it was long and lusty, his eyes flicking to where her brother held his hand. "He wants children." He said finally, "he is lonely, I don't doubt he loves Isaac but it's just not enough any more."

Laura sighed. "That is not something easily fixed." She said.

"Stiles," Derek chided and pulled the boy into the curl of his chest.

"My lady," the boy continued, "if I might be so bold." He took a deep breath clearly picturing the discipline her brother would give him later. "I understand that you cannot simply allow your uncle to have children whilst the throne is so vulnerable, until you have heirs of your own it is impossible, but perhaps there might be some accord you could reach."

Laura narrowed her eyes and leant forward in her chair. "Go on."

"Your uncle lost a wife and child in the Great Fire and that is not a hurt that will ever be healed, but the promise of children can be a powerful motivator and my lady needs an heir."

"I am not having children with my uncle." She said and the boy laughed then.

"No, my lady, if my lady were betrothed with the promise of marriage and heirs then your uncle could marry as well, if under instruction that he not get her pregnant until you have had heirs of your own. That is a salve and a promise. He understands that there can be no children whilst you yourself are childless, so if it appears that that might change then he might be appeased."

"Go on," she said, "It is well, Derek, he can talk."

"I am sure that my lady has many suitors." The boy suggested.

"Not as many as you would think, there are few houses that would spare me a submissive to take as husband." She said, "and if I marry a dominant then there is the risk that I might lose my kingdom."

The boy was quiet for a moment, licking his bruised mouth, "there may be an alternative," he said, "although I know I am to be punished for speaking of it." He stopped and looked at Derek, "does my lady know of the states of Agron and Nasir?" he asked.

"They are in the Lycan empire," she said, "and inconsequential at that."

"They have an interesting history, my lady, more than an interesting present. My father told me this story, and I have since learned it is true. Nasir is a coastal state, and Agron is inland, and they came to an agreement in regards to trade. Nasir would recieve a discount on goods imported from Agron and Agron would recieve a similar discount when it came to imports the other way, and to secure the treaty, made mostly on dried fish and wool, they arranged a marriage, which is normal. But there was plague and from two large royal houses only two children remained, both dominants, but with a marriage treaty that both countries needed binding them." He stopped, and looked at Derek again for reassurance, Laura assumed, "so they altered several slight terms, each agreed that they alone were sovereign of their own state, and that two heirs would be born, one for each. Each agreed to take the role of royal consort in the other's kingdom with no more power in their spouse's kingdom than was due the spouse of the regnant. Do you understand, my lady, why I tell you this story?"

"You think I should present this option to one of the more dominant states, to present a marriage of equals and not a submissive and dominant." She said.

"Yes, my lady, and with the war as it is," he stopped, "I think the Lycan empire would offer Vlk the best options, but I might be wrong, simply because their Lord Emperor is descended himself from that Queen of Agron and that King of Nasir."

"Deucalion is a tyrant and a war monger." Laura sneered.

"But yet he needs an heir too, it is well known his submissive cannot provide him with one, and a political marriage would offer both you and your heir protections because no one would cross him." The boy had that correct, not even the Argents at their worst would cross the Lycan empire and Deucalion was no worse than most of the monarchs. "And all you would have to offer him in exchange is passage for his supply trains protected by your own men for his expansions with Vlk as a sovereign part of his empire, remaining under your command with your soldiers, but his on paper."

"This is a dangerous topic, submissive." She said and she sounded more sad and resigned than angry.

"I know, my lady. You asked my dominant here to learn why his uncle was angry, and we have told you, and I shall be punished for my smart mouth, but my lady there is one thing left I have to say, and if I am to be punished it might as well be for stealing sheep as eyeing up lambs." His voice was even, he was choosing his words carefully. "Lord Martin lost his lands and rightly so for his treachery, but he has a daughter of marriagable age. Give her to your uncle instead of a nunnery as you planned. He gains no lands or wealth from the match, but she is educated and beautiful and young, she will, when my lady permits, give him handsome children, but she is also of quick wit and I know your uncle cherishes that. It will give you time to think over what I have suggested, and appease him somewhat."

She nodded. "You are dismissed, submissive, wait in your chambers for your dominant." The boy bowed and left the room. "Do you even have the slightest idea what you've got yourself into, Derek?"

"He's," Derek said, "he's mine."

Laura laughed then, "and I wonder which of you holds the leash." She loved her brother and this boy, this clever, dangerous boy made him happy, and that was reason enough. "Don't be too harsh on him," she said, "I might not have wanted to hear what he had to say but he's right. I do need to provide Vlk an heir," she stopped, then waved him towards the door, "and Derek," she called him back, "arrange the wedding between Uncle Peter and the Martin girl, I would rather have him distracted than bringing his sword to my throat."


	3. Lydia's Wedding Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a universe that if I had a narrative for I would be all over like a rash, but I don't....
> 
> however I want to explain some of the politics in this
> 
> Lydia lost her liberty because she was underage when her father betrayed the kingdom, which meant by law she was submissive to her father (or her mother if she had been the dominant) Laura by executing her father became responsible for her as if she was her dependant, and stuck her in a convent where she was happy to spend her days in study.
> 
> Marriage in this universe isn't quite the same as in ours. A dynamic relationship (dom/sub) is standard and any child that is born of that relationship is their legal heir. However when for some reason they can't have children (one of them can't, same sex union etc) a marriage takes place, this is a contractual sexual relationship that does not necessarily include romance (but it can) and often features two dynamic relationships being joined. A dynamic relationship can be broken by both parties, a marriage can't, it can only end in death. A marriage does not mean that one party takes over the lands and rights of the other, for example two dominants might marry and they remain dominant and keep their lands etc.
> 
> Lydia is a unique case because she is "owned" by the state even though she is a dominant because she was underage when her father betrayed Vlk, otherwise she would have hung with him. This means that although she is being married with no choice in the matter she is being reinstated in court (in a higher position actually) but has no lands or holdings of her own, except what she is given as a wedding gift. She can, within the rules of the court, take a submissive of her own, now that she's left the convent, but she hasn't.
> 
> She and Peter share Isaac because Isaac wants them to.
> 
> And if Lydia doesn't want to have sex with Peter she doesn't have to, but she is his Lady with all the ranks and honours that entails, even if she locks her bedroom door and throws books at him.
> 
> Although there are some drugs taken in this fic they are aphrodisiacs which are given with complete knowledge and consent.

Of all the things that Lydia Martin had expected when her father had been caught betraying Vlk to anyone who would pay being married into the royal family was not one of them. She had been a child when it had happened, just old enough to realise that this was her life now, that she belonged to Alpha Hale and that she would almost certainly spend her life in the convent where they sent her, in the grey nowhere that existed between her rank and a prisoner, for she was coddled and spoiled with access to one of the best libraries in the country, but unable to leave.

So when Submissive Stilinski had arrived with a royal warrant explaining that she was to marry Lord Peter she was skeptical, after all she had no lands, those had long since been seized by the throne, or wealth, and nothing to recommend her but her beauty, which she knew was great, and her wit, which was sharpened by years in books not among people, but Submissive Stilinski told her not to worry about it, that it would work out, and he had been so excited by the idea of a wedding that she had just agreed.

It had been Submissive Stilinski, call me Stiles, that had come for her in the convent, who had travelled with her through the lush orchards of Vlk to the capital and who had arranged her chambers and maids and clothes. When she had asked if he was her husband's submissive he had laughed until he had to wipe tears from his eyes. "He is the uncle of my D - dominant." He had caught himself on the words clearly more used to referring to his dominant by name than by title, and all of her maids would sigh when they talked about how lucky he was, because his dominant was handsome, rich and clearly devoted. "He's not a good man," Stiles had been clear on that, "but he will be kind to you, he's loyal, which I think means more. He's clever too, don't hide your smarts from him, he doesn't like that." And that was all Lydia was told about her husband.

She knew that he was older, that he had been the brother of the old Alpha and was the uncle of the current one. She knew that had had lost his submissive and family in the fire that her father had helped arrange ten years ago.

She didn't know why Stiles was the one who arranged the marriage just that he had clucked over her like he was her mother, and not older than her by several months, as her maids tried out hair styles and rejected gowns because the colour was unflattering because he wanted her to be beautiful, and it was Stiles who used his clever expressive hands, hands that spoke almost as much as he did, to braid flowers into her wedding garters. It was Stiles who helped her into her wedding gown, a silk so rich and expensive it was as stiff as paper and crackled like sparks when she moved, embroidered with hummingbirds and dark hibiscus flowers. It was Stiles who twisted the jewelled combs into her hair. It was Stiles who waved away the maid with the jewellery because she needed none, just a little kohl on her eyes, a little powder on her cheeks and some rouge on her lips. And it was Stiles who told a joke so scandalous that Lydia laughed out loud even though she was terrified.

She was to be married, and it was Stiles who took the role of her dominant, making sure everything was perfect for her. It was Stiles who knelt before her to help her feet into the embroidered slippers, and it was Stiles who embraced her and told her she looked beautiful and if Peter Hale did not realise it then so help him God.

\---

The ceremony was quick and then Lydia sat next to her husband for their wedding breakfast. The ritual was strange because she would sit next to him all day as people brought them gifts and well wishes and feasted around them, because after breakfast they were to make a show, they were a display, then at some time in the evening she would be carried by the submissives of the court, still on her couch, to her wedding bed where he would join her.

"You look beautiful." He said but he didn't even turn to look at her.

"Thank you." She said because she didn't know what else to say to him.

He was younger than she had feared, and would occasionally lean in to say something to her, perhaps commenting on the terrible colour choices that some of the court were wearing, at least one of which left the same sort of spots one got from looking at the sun, he tasted her wine before it was passed to her, a gesture of domination she had not expected, for a dominant only tasted the wine of their most favoured submissive to test for poison, and she was not that. She was a trinket handed to him for reasons she didn't understand. A bride did not wear the collar of a submissive, for she might not be, instead she wore rings bound with chains to a cuff on her wrist, one that tinkled and jingled when she took the cup from him and he offered her a smile.

She had seen him smile at the courtiers and it was a mocking half smile, one of amusement at their follies, but the smile he made when her heard the rattling of her bridal chains was surprised and almost genuine, she had not expected that.

His submissive, Isaac, a tall man, perhaps of an age with her, with sharp cheekbones and curls she wanted to bury her fingers in brought them food as they sat there, before sitting carefully between them. That had been a surprise but one her husband had wanted to give her.

Across the room Submissive Stilinski was laughing, sat on his dominant's knee as his dominant fed him fruit, breaking it with kisses and laughter and attempted bites of his hand, and no one thought it strange, but more that it was heart warming because they were like that together and not together often enough that they would remember that there were people around them when the wine flowed, and Lydia was jealous, not of Stiles' dominant, because she had heard he was bad tempered and gruff, but of the easy affection they shared, and how easily that his dominant could hook his finger into his collar and pull him down for a fruit flavoured kiss. Lydia didn't even notice her hand reaching out to Isaac's curls, until Peter's hand touched hers. "Beautiful aren't they?" He almost sounded fond, "after the fire I didn't think anything could make Derek happy, but that boy does, even if most of the time I want to strangle him."

"He was very sweet to me." Lydia said.

"I imagine so," Peter agreed, "but he's mouthy, and quick to answer, even when he should not, Derek is indulgent with him, others would not be and ask my nephew to take him to task. Derek does not, but sometimes you just want to put your hands on his shoulders and just shake."

"Then Derek would strangle you," Isaac pointed out, "probably long enough you'd black out."

And Peter laughed. "It's true, he would," he agreed, "and then I'd have to hide my neck," he ran his fingers down it suggestively to make Lydia laugh, "and the world would go into mourning."

"Perhaps we should get you a collar to show the world how beautiful your neck is." Lydia said as she smiled at whatever lord was giving her what appeared to be a serving platter, bowing as he put it on the pile. Surely most couples talked when presented like this, it must be why, she assumed that there was always a distance between them and what was shaping up to be a pretty fabulous hoard.

Isaac snorted into his hand. "Ooh," he said reaching forward to snag what looked like a collar which had lovely dark green stones, "this is lovely." He showed it to Peter, "a bit short though."

"That's not your colour, love," he told him, "and that's not a collar."

"It's a garter." Lydia told him, "it should have a match somewhere in there."

"I could come to bed wearing nothing but these," Isaac said leaning his head against Peter's thigh.

"No," Lydia said, "we'd have them made for you in pearls, with a matching collar, what do you think, husband?"

Peter smiled at her, "no," he said, "pearl coloured ribbons with round blue star sapphires, like his eyes, I think I saw some of them in the pile." Isaac blushed as Lydia laughed, "we could tie him up in ribbons like that, with a string of sapphires around his throat and just..."

"Peter," Isaac hissed, "in public!" And Petter just laughed, and Lydia got the strangest idea then that given time she might actually like her husband, love was for other people, but she could work with like, because he was willing to tease his submissive to make her laugh.

\---

Peter had arranged for Lydia to not be carried to the bedchamber they would share tonight. She knew what would happen, she had read enough books and anatomical treatises to know, but she was curious for she had never. She had passed their purity test, a simple matter of peeing into a glass bottle, with flying colours.

Isaac led her into the room, which was well appointed with thick rich carpets and a wide and rather imposing looking bed with heavy curtains and a large fireplace in which someone had built a fire to warm the air in the room. "You seem quiet, my lady," he said and his smile was colder than the stone floor.

"Lydia," she said, "my name is Lydia. I'm not your dominant, you can call me by name."

His laugh then was mocking. "You are my dominant's wife," he corrected her, "that makes me your submissive unless you would rather I was not. Am I not pleasing to your eye?" The words were carefully chosen and she knew that he had either been coached or discussed them with his dominant before this meeting.

She cocked her eyebrow and pursed her lips. "You know full well that you are beautiful, you do not need me to stroke your ego." He stepped behind her and began to pull the combs from her hair. "Aren't you jealous that I might take him from you?" His laugh that time was warmer, and she could feel it against her stays.

"More beautiful and smarter have tried, Lydia, and failed. You are a gift to him, you no more own him than I do. You are something that the Alpha gave him because she fears him, fears us, you're a salve to his ego, nothing more."

"You're wrong," she said but she did not turn to look at him as he pulled the combs from her hair and his deft fingers undid the braids. "I'm a brood mare for him to get children on."

"Children," Peter said closing the door and latching it, "there is more than enough of me to go around, you don't need to bicker." Both Lydia and Isaac frowned at him. "Besides, I was under the impression that we would simply sleep tonight." Lydia let out a breath she had not known she was holding, "Isaac and I sleep naked, you don't mind, do you, love?"

Lydia shook her head as Isaac turned his attention to her stays.

Peter made quick work of his own clothes, pulling off his boots, pants and jacket until he stood in only a soft shirt, and watched as Isaac removed Lydia's clothes. It was to make her feel at ease, she realised, Isaac had taken his boots off as well, and he had not worn a jacket even in the main hall, to show off his collar, and she was being seduced, even Isaac's acrimony had been planned for this. "You don't need to seduce me," she said simply as Isaac untied the laces that held on her skirt under her mantua, "I'm something of a sure thing."

His smile this time had a leer to it. "There are problems with that though, I'm under very strict instructions not to get you pregnant, and prophylactic teas, the ones that I'm sure Stiles taught you to make, aren't as reliable as they could be, and I would not have to executed simply because I could not keep it in my pants."

"He can't keep it in his pants." Isaac agreed as the skirt finally fell around her ankles, panniers and all.

"But there is a sort of lucky coincidence, Isaac was unmade as a boy,"

"did you?" Lydia was horrified, she did not finish the sentence. There was a death penalty for those who unmade submissives for a reason.

"No, it was before I knew him." Peter said and now that Lydia looked she could see an anger burning there, "and a hundred deaths will not make up for what Isaac suffered unwillingly, but he is mine now." There was almost a threat there, but not to her, to those who would threaten Isaac and she had had no intention of doing that before. She and Isaac had to come to an agreement but that had never meant stabbing him in a dark corridor. Isaac was using those same clever fingers that had undressed her to braid her hair in preparation for sleep.

"Yours to protect, to cherish, to love." She quoted the old poem easily, the words more confident than she was.

"You know the old ways," Peter seemed pleased then.

"And if I want to consummate this marriage tonight?" She was a picture of perfect artlessness in her shift, stockings and slippers.

"With which of us?" Peter asked as Isaac's warm leeched into her back from where he stood.

"With both of you, of course." She answered, and untied the lace holding the neck of her shift so it fell down around her ankles, and she was naked in front of them. "Isaac," she turned to look over her shoulder at him, "do you consent? Is this what you want?"

Isaac's mouth curled up at the side into a smirk. "I want." He said.

Peter chuckled to himself, before from a table to the side he lifted a small tray of candies. "These are drugged," he said offering out the tray, "they will not prevent you saying no, but they are more likely to make you say yes, do you want one, Lydia?" Isaac didn't even question, just took one of the candies, taking it down in a careless bite. "They make it easier to be aroused, nothing more, it is like being drunk."

Lydia nodded her head and took one of the candies, biting into it as she met her husband's eyes. It was not uncommon to share such drugs during sex, but it was heavily frowned upon to hide the fact that they were being shared. They were very rarely offered in food, so it showed how powerful Peter was that he could. She had had them before, just not for sex.

Isaac turned her, hands careful on her shoulders, and bent down to take her mouth in a kiss, licking at the sugar still there, and his mouth was hot and wet and Peter took what had been Isaac's place at her back, arms reaching around her to undo the laces of Isaac's pants.

Lydia batted his hand away, putting them on her bare stomach instead, "let me," she said into Isaac's mouth, where his tongue was hot and strong and his head bent down, even stood in heels as she was. Her fingers were clumsy at this angle, but she made short work of it, pushing them down, and cupping his cock in her palm. It was hot and the skin soft, although it was thickening in her hand and he made a little grunt of a groan, and behind her she could feel the hot chuff of Peter's laughter on her neck. Then her husband bent down and began to kiss her neck, scraping over it with soft lips and hard sharp teeth, and his hands, heavier and rougher than her own, moved up to cup her breasts, just letting the hard skin on his palms scrape across her nipples and she moaned, her hand reaching down to cup Isaac's balls, to find them curiously absent and a thin raised scar in their place, but his cock against the inside of her wrist as he kissed her, hips jerking into her hand, and Peter kissed and bit and rubbed and. "Bed," she said, pulling her mouth away for long seconds, "now. You'll get a crick otherwise."

Peter laughed again, "well, Isaac, you heard the lady." And Isaac moved his hands from her arms, down around her waist and lifted her like she was made of feather down, carrying her to the bed with one arm under her legs and the other around her shoulders.

Peter moved to the other side of the bed where he lay down. "I would like to watch for now," he said in a voice like chocolate, "unless you have any objections."

Both of them just smiled at him. "Are you sure," Lydia asked as Isaac mouthed at her neck, "you'd rather not give direction?"

"Tempting," he admitted with a smile, raising himself up on one elbow so he lay supine, "but I'd rather let Isaac take the reins on this one."

Isaac moved his mouth, wondrous and hot and biting, from her neck to her collarbones, his hands under the small of her back arching Lydia up to meet him, before he rubbed her breasts against the flat plains of his own chest and shimmied down to suck one nipple into his mouth. Lydia cast her head back was a delighted breathy noise. "And if I want you both?" She asked.

"Another night, love," he said taking her hand and twining his fingers through hers, "let your first time be this, be Isaac, and know I'm here," he curled down to kiss the back of her hand and she squeezed his hand even as he panted as Isaac's mouth pulled and sucked at one breast and then the other, one hand holding her up like she was a rag doll and the other curled around her ribcage and his eyes were on Peter. His lips were almost swollen from the kisses, from the way he played with her breasts as her breath came in slow pants.

"Isaac," her breath came out as a sort of grunt, "your hands."

"They're on your waist." Isaac said, eyes wide looking for reassurance from Peter.

"Exactly, put them somewhere useful." She freed her hand from Peter, and moved one of his hands to her breast and the other between her legs which she parted for him in an invitation. Isaac flicked his eyes across to Peter who nodded and Isaac, with one last kiss between her breasts, shimmied down and settled between her thighs, parting her pubic hair with his nose and taking a long sucking breath through his nose.

Lydia groaned as he started to lick, one hand finding his curls as she brought her knees up and her head went back, the other finding Peter and pulling him closer to her. He had said that he wanted to touch but Lydia wanted him to kiss her, and as a gentleman he couldn't bring himself to deny her.

Isaac had a clever tongue and was confident in what he was doing, Lydia's kisses got sloppy and Peter dragged the tip of his nose along her mouth as hers fell open, making low grunts in the back of her throat as Isaac lifted her hips to make it easier to work his clever tongue from the crease of her labia, down over her clit, and down to her ass which he worked as diffidently as he did her clit. She wanted to kiss Peter, but she couldn't quite make her lips work as Peter's hand moved towards her breast, kneading it softly, tugging on her nipple as she started to jerk and rock into Isaac's mouth, with low murmurs of "Isaac, that's dirty, not there," and long deep chesty groans.

Her orgasm, she thought, came out of nowhere, the pale skin of her throat and breasts blushing bright pink as her toes tried to find purchase in the blanket she lay on. She made a sort of oop noise as if it had caught her completely unawares and instead of reacting as she thought she would, she had given a sort of hiccup, but Isaac didn't let it quit, he worked her slowly, with two fingers in her cunt, and his tongue in her ass until she was forced to bat him away, and he came up from between her thighs, with his face slick and shining in the lamplight and a smug smile. "Was that nice?" he asked and she just laughed, a worn out sound against the side of Peter's face.

"Oh love," she said finally, when she had caught her breath, though her eyes were still heavy lidded and her breath rattling deep in her chest, "that was delicious." She said with a smile. "So, are you going to plow me?" Lydia had been so clever and precise in her language, so formal and polite that now using the common slang it hit Isaac like a hammer.

"Isaac," Peter said, in a voice heavy with lust, his own erection ignored except for him lazy jacking it, "don't you want her to ride you?"

"Oh god yes," Lydia breathed as Isaac lifted her, turning the two of them as Peter shifted back on the bed, he let her manhandle his cock, aligning it before she slipped down with a little moue of pain on her face.

"Isaac," Peter said, "why don't you bring your knees up," Isaac, as heavy lidded now as Lydia was and licking his lips, his hands hard and heavy on her hips, followed instruction beautifully, Lydia noticed. His cock was hot and hard inside her, an almost pain as she rocked and rolled her hips trying to fit him better inside her as it was Isaac's turn to let his head fall back, as Peter moved one of Isaac's hand from her hips to her breast, because it had proven itself to be something that Lydia liked.

"Oh," she said as something shifted, as Isaac started using the feet he had flat on the bed, so she could lean back against his thighs for traction, to thrust up into her, and she could see how Isaac was coming undone under her, how Peter was lazily jacking his own erection, careful to not touch because this was for them, he had said, but he was still aroused and the air smelt of sweat and sex and there were grunts and groans and Lydia's little hiccuping noises that she couldn't quite control when Isaac was buried so deep inside her, even when she fell forward with both hands on the bed, changing again the angle of his thrusts, "oh, goddess, I'm gonna." She couldn't control her hips, it was sort of painful, odd and she felt full, when Peter sat up.

He lent in beside her, his hand trailing down her back, to the cleft of her ass and then pressing against the rim of her asshole, before he slipped his finger inside, "there's going to be a time when I fuck you here, whilst you ride Isaac like this."

She whited out a little with her orgasm it hit her so hard, and when they were done she sort of rolled off Isaac to the side, she felt boneless and a little empty, her breath was coming hard and fast and Isaac wasn't much better as Peter pulled the blanket up over them, mess and all, kissing them both softly on the forehead with a murmur about them being his precious darlings before they fell asleep.

Lydia woke up in late morning to the sight Peter aggressively fucking Isaac against the foot board of the bed, and Isaac's face was one of absolute delight, he was grinning as he clutched the wood so tightly his knuckles were white, and his eyes almost rolled back in his head. Last night, Lydia thought, as she rolled over, back into the warmth of the bed, was about her, she'd let Isaac have this. Maybe tomorrow she'd watch them, but this morning she just wanted to sleep.


	4. Bog beasts and collaring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I have noticed that the scenes in the bdsm fantasy verse are chronological, hey i might even have a plot, but it's not what I'm doing for nano, that's rare pair month and have I got a rare pair for you my duckies. How about a canon Laura/Deucalion epic love story. Not an arranged marriage for political reasons, but matefic, because I can.
> 
> Anyway the set up for this story, Deucalion has arrived in Vlk's capital, he and Laura are discussing the terms of their marriage (remember this is a treaty not a love match) and he has brought with him some of his most favoured courtiers. One of which pinched Stiles' ass, not once, but twice - so Stiles threw a jug of iced wine on him, Stiles should NOT have done this and is to be punished.

Stiles had been given specific instructions when he had been sent to their bedroom. He was to draw a bath and use the rosemary based herbal salts for the water. He was to turn down the bedding, and build up the fire. He was then to strip down to his shirt and kneel on the carpet at the foot of the bed.

Although Derek was his Dominant he very rarely commanded Stiles to do anything, so when he did, when he took the role of dominant as opposed to devoted lover, Stiles obeyed.

He also knew he was in for it.

It wasn't his fault, he thought as he measured out the herbal salts into the bath, it was that asshole twin who had pinched his ass hard enough to bruise, not once, but twice, and Derek's glares clearly hadn't done anything and what good was a dominant if he wasn't going to do what Stiles wasn't supposed to and stopped it.

He was still angry as he poked at the fire in the grate before adding a few more logs. He was pissed off as he pulled back the blankets on the bed in preparation for the night. He knew that Derek was right to punish him, because the ambassador could insist on much more for his surprise wine bath, but it didn't mean he wanted it or had to like it. He threw his boots across the room because Derek hadn't told him he couldn't, or even that he shouldn't, and it was a petty defiance, even as he stripped down to his shirt, dropped to his knees on the carpet, which Derek had bought especially for Stiles to kneel on because it was soft and thick, folded his hands in his lap, still muttering to himself about asshole dominants, as he closed his eyes and started the breathing routine that he had been taught from childhood to do when he assumed this position.

When Derek came in he walked straight over to the wash table and poured water over his hands, and Stiles wondered why he would start by washing his hands, cracking his knuckles before he pulled over the heavy wooden chair to beside Stiles' carpet. "I'm going to punish you, love," he said putting his hand on Stiles shoulder in a gesture of comfort, "for two things, do you know what they are?"

"Throwing the wine around the ambassador." Stiles said, Derek always made him admit his guilt. He knew he had been wrong but the ambassador was wrong too.

"And?"

Stiles was quiet for a second, "throwing my boots." he admitted.

"No," Derek said, "look at me." Stiles turned around to look at where Derek was sat in the chair behind him. His knuckles were split where he had clearly punched someone. Stiles rested his head against Derek's thigh, his shoulders between his knees, in a gesture of subservience that made Stiles weak, it removed all his defiance as Derek put his hand on the curve of Stiles' neck. "The second punishment is for not trusting I would take care of it." He cupped Stiles face pulling him up slightly to drop a kiss on his forehead. "For wasting the wine you will have ten strokes of the paddle," Stiles hated the paddle, it was so clinical, which of course was why Derek used it only for punishment and never for play. "And for not trusting me I'm going to paddle you until you cry, so don't hold back. You are my submissive and you belong to me, and that includes your tears. And then, love, we're going to have that hot bath you drew for us and then we're going to go to bed, together, do you understand me?"

"yes, sir," Stiles said, he never wanted to argue when he was like this and dammit Derek was making sense. He just didn't want him to.

"The ambassador is currently at the physicians getting his broken nose set. I've told you over and over you are mine to protect, and on the day I can't protect you I will take back my collar, do you understand me, Stiles."

"Yes, sir," Stiles repeated.

"Good, now go fetch the paddle." Stiles scrambled to his feet, Derek didnt' say he had a time limit but that didn't mean he didn't. Stiles opened the chest and rooted around amidst their toys for the wooden paddle, it had been so long since Stiles had been punished it had fallen to the very bottom of the chest.

It was polished rose wood with a slick finish and holes bored through it so it could go faster. Stiles hated it. He went to Derek, fell to his knees on the thick rug, and held it aloft.

"Good boy," Derek said ruffling his hair. He sat there for a moment because he knew the anticipation was always worse than the spanking. Stiles loved to sit like this, but at the same time he resented it because he wasn't Derek's toy, dammit, he was his submissive and only Derek got to see him like this. Stiles didn't care that the two things were contradictory.

He didn't even realise he was humming until Derek smiled at him. "I want you to stand up, put your hands on the footboard about two feet apart, and stick your ass in the air."

Stiles took a deep breath, "yes, sir." He said and assumed the position. He didn't ruck up his shirt, because Derek liked to do that. In all the time that they had been together Stiles had been punished four times, but it was more than enough for him to know what to do. He kept the shirt because Derek wanted it to be impersonal, this wasn't play, where Derek might fold him over his knee and spank him with the flat of his bare hand until Stiles rubbed himself to orgasm over his thigh. Spanking was for play, paddling was for discipline.

"First the ten blows for wasting the wine." Stiles noted that Derek had not minded him protecting his dignity, just the waste of the wine, it had been an expensive sweet white wine, and Stiles had been carrying it from the serving table to the high table for Laura, Deucalion and Derek, until that asshole had pinched Stiles hard enough to make him yelp. "I want you to count for me."

That was when Derek stood up, pulling up the end of his shirt and running his hand over the swell of Stiles' ass, noticing the bruise forming there from the pinch. He made an unhappy noise before he dropped to his knees behind him and sucked a mark over it. "The only marks on you are mine." He growled.

"I didn't want it." Stiles pointed out.

"I know," Derek said, resting his hand on the small of Stiles' back, "doesn't mean I like it though." He rubbed the meat of Stiles' ass, rubbing his thumb over his new kiss mark, "now count for me, love."

The first blow was always the worst. Derek never eased him into it. It landed with a solid thwack and Stiles flinched. "One." He said trying to keep his tone even.

Derek was not a dominant who gave out punishments for minor infractions or mistakes, only for active wilfulness and deliberate disobedience and then he rarely gave more than ten blows. Stiles had done this before, he could be strong. Thwack. "Two." He flinched just before the third one but Derek didn't chastise him as he sometimes did. "Thr, Three." He repeated and took a long deep breath as Derek put his hand on the small of his back. He was a strong young submissive, he wasn't going to break down over three slaps of the paddle. He might have wanted to burn the paddle, but he could take ten smacks. "Four." He said as it hit.

"Five." He said as his lip started to wobble, there was a huge lump in the back of his throat but he wasn't going to cry, he was going to take his punishment and he wasn't going to. "Six." He was crying. Behind him Derek was silent, as he always was when he was punishing Stiles, because it was a punishment. It could have been anyone punishing him and that was Derek's intention. Derek loved him, and if Stiles could feel that he wouldn't trust the punishment. "Seven," the tears were streaming down his face and Derek was as methodical as a pendulum, he wouldn't stop, he wouldnt offer comfort until all ten blows were done, and then he'd start the second punishment. "Ey-eight," Stiles sobbed, he was on the verge of keening a little unsure of why he was so upset over a few blows, he had taken much more before this. "Nine." He took a deep breath, he could do this, he could, he was a strong submissive, he wasn't weak, he could do "Ten." The air gusted out of him with the word, like he had been deflated, as Derek was pulling him back, easing his fingers from around the footboard, making hushing noises as he wrapped himself around Stiles and pulled him back into the chair.

"You needed that, didn't you?" Derek said softly into the skin behind Stiles ear as Stiles hitched and sobbed in his arms. He wrapped his arms about him and slowly rocked back and forth, murmuring things into his hair. "I let it go so long, you just took more and more responsibility, I should have seen, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Because it was Derek's responsibility to know what his submissive needed and he had needed the reassurance of knowing someone was there for him. Derek was curled around him, protecting him like a shield murmuring things like love you, love you so much, mine and protect you amidst the nonsense, as he laid soft kisses on his head between the words.

He nuzzled at the line of Stiles' throats as the sobs eased and were replacing with wet slurping snorts and little gasps, nothing of arousal just the attempt to breathe through the mucus. He just stroked his arms and murmured reassurances, nuzzling his neck with the tip of his nose and soft kittenish kisses until the storm had passed.

"'M Sorry." Stiles mumbled into his shoulder.

"Why?" Derek asked, "I am your dominant so you can be weak around me, so you can break down if it's what you need and know I'll be there for you. You're my good boy," He said the words so surely. Then he stopped, his finger on the line of Stiles' collar. "I'm going to take this off."

Stiles leapt from him like he had been stung. "No," he said, grabbing his collar, "no, it's mine, you can't take it from me, you promised, you promised I'd always be yours."

"Stiles," Derek said using his dominant voice, the one Stiles often ignored or laughed at. "It's rubbing a blister, I want to take it off to put salve on the mark, that's all."

Stiles deflated, there was a tear streaming down his cheek. "I'm sorry," Derek repeated, standing up, his hands spread to appease his flighty submissive, like he was approaching a wild animal. "I just wanted to take it off to put some salve on the blister."

"It's my collar, mine." Stiles said.

"I know, love, and I don't want to take it from you, just to put some salve on your neck, that's all." He was crowding Stiles towards the end of the bed. "I know how much it means to you, to us, I wouldn't take it from you when you've been such a good boy." Stiles lip was wobbling and Derek wanted to pull it into his mouth, to bite down on it like it was a segment of orange. He loved Stiles' mouth. "This is my mistake, I should have discussed this with you, told you why, I was wrong, Stiles, I'm not going to take your collar from you, I wouldn't, you're mine, and I will never let another person have you. I would kill anyone who would take you from me, you know that, I have done that." He reached out to touch the scar on Stiles' neck, the red mark that had never quite faded no matter what the surgeons did, the one from where Kate had cut off his first collar with a pair of smith's shears, uncaring of how she cut the boy wearing it. It was one of the many scars Kate left him. "But you are hurt, love," he said, rubbing his finger tips over the scar, "and I hate to see you hurt," Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek again, "let's go to bed, love," Derek said, choosing to ignore the bath cooling in the other room, "I'll never let anyone take you from me."

"M'kay," Stiles murmured into the fabric of Derek's jacket, "not talking to you though."

Derek chuffed a laugh. He wouldn't be talking to him either.

\---

The next morning Stiles had a collar of hickeys to replace the one Derek had to remove and Laura noticed it as he set out her plate carefully, before slamming Derek's down on the table. "Is he not talking to you, again?" She asked with a smile to her brother. "Did he object to you defending his honour with the ambassador?"

"No," Derek agreed, "he told me to punch him hard enough his twin felt it." Laura shrugged, that sounded like Stiles. "I fucked up and he's making me suffer."

"What did you do?" Laura spread the words out to show how she disapproved.

"He has a sore on his neck from the collar rubbing," he told her, "so I went to take it off without discussing it."

He looked even more aggrieved when Laura took his breakfast from him. "You are an idiot." She said tipping the eggs onto her own plate, "and I'm with him on this on, as your alpha you better make it up to him, he is the one organising a royal wedding and I don't want him pissing off the most dangerous man in the world because you're an idiot." He reached for the plate but the sausages were a lost cause, "and as your alpha, I want you running drills with the men, all day, actually, no, they need endurance training, with the mud these past few days the road is all boggy, I want you to run drills with them in the mud, and when they ask you why, tell them it's because my alpha thinks I'm an idiot."

"I apologised to him, I'm not questioning his right to be pissed at me, and as his dominant I have that right." Derek said, annoyed now.

"And as his alpha I'm seconding it, you're going sprinting, in the mud, until nightfall, with your men, enjoy yourself."

"Can I at least get some breakfast?" He asked.

"No." She answered, she liked Stiles, he made her brother happy, which made it her job to make him miserable on Stiles' behalf. "Stiles," She called bringing the boy over to them, "my brother is an idiot, and you are to accompany me today as my assistant whilst I make his life an unbearable hell, forgive him when you're ready."

Stiles just shook his head, "you know me so well." He admitted.

\---

That afternoon, in the midst of her daily tasks, which surprised Stiles with how many there were, she took him past the guards to the treasury, a large vault under the castle where he had never been before, with two of the largest guards that Stiles had ever seen on either side of the door, each holding lances. One of them was even wearing a submissive's collar. He was the one that winked at Stiles as he went past.

Inside the room was another guard, this one accompanying the chancellor as he checked the coins against the ledgers. "Mister Chancellor," Laura said firmly, "I want you to bring me the collars we have here."

The chancellor made a sort of stuttering sound, before he regained his composure, "yes, my lady." He said, "may I ask, what size the boy's neck is, we have many collars, from many different reigns, but some would certainly be too small, and some too big."

Laura raised an eyebrow. "You have a measure, yes, for the records?" She asked him. "Give it to him."

"I could," the chancellor said.

"My brother is out of sorts from someone touching his submissive without permission." Laura said firmly. "And if was willing to break the nose and jaw of one of the most favoured ambassadors to our country I hate to think what he would do to a man over whom he was sovereign."

"Quite right, my lady, sir," he handed Stiles the measure, which he wrapped around his neck, marking the point where the end met, the chancellor took it and nodded. "I know just the ones." He said, before turning around, crossing the room and taking down a small wooden box, which he put on a small table in front of him, the one with the ledgers in fact. He opened it to reveal at least ten collars, from faded lace, to fine filigree silver and gold. One appeared to be moonstones fastened together with wire as fine as spider webs. Some were more masculine than others.

"This one." Stiles said pulling it out of the box. Instead of the usual sort of collar it was a torque, with an opening over the windpipe and it was three colours of metal, a white silver, a dark grey and a brassy sort of gold colour, in three strands twisted together. At the back of the neck, to be worn over the name, was an inscribed triskelion with a small nugget of topaz where the legs of it began, and each end featured a stylised wolf, one silver with sapphire and and one gold with ruby eyes.

"Good choice, sir," the chancellor said, "I'll just get you a bag for it. One moment, my lady, if you would be so kind." He went into the corner. "Are you sure, my lady, that he may have that one?"

"He is my brother's most favoured submissive," Laura answered, "and he is my heir, who else would have it, it could remain here gathering dust, or it could be worn on the throat of the most favoured submissive of my kingdom. I have no submissive, so let him have it, it remains, like he himself is, Derek's possession and thus belongs to the crown."

"Yes, my lady." The chancellor said.

"Stiles," she called over, "chancellor and I have some details to work out over the corn trade we made, go find my brother, get him to put that on you." Stiles bobbed a quick and clumsy curtsey, "and the one you had, bring that here, we'll hold it in trust for you, we know how important it is,"

"My lady," Stiles began, "its just a piece of a gorget, it's just a left over piece of armour that my dominant found for me." That was the half truth, it had been Kate Argent's gorget, it had been the piece of her armour that had protected her throat and Derek had taken it off her body as she lay dying and asked Stiles to kneel for him. And with his back almost flayed open, with the cut on his throat still bleeding, Stiles had dropped to his knees, there and then in the courtyard and the middle of the battle, and lifted his chin to his dominant.

Laura had to know the story, Derek had done it to publicly there in Kate Argent's castle as the bitch lay dying, before he carried Stiles to the medical tent where he had lain for days with Derek never leaving his side.

Stiles had, himself, been told the story with massive embellishments from other submissives who wanted to know if it was true, and he always said, "tell me what you heard happened and I'll tell you what did."

There were ballads.

"Yes," Laura said, "it is the collar your dominant, my heir, found for you, thus it belongs with our treasures." Derek was right, Laura noticed, he was adorable when he blushed.

\---

When Derek walked into the room he shared with Stiles he had already removed his jacket, which was stiff with mud, and had one boot off, "Stiles, have you?"

Derek went quiet. Stiles had moved the furniture so that Derek's chair, the wooden one with the broken seat that was so much more comfortable than it had been, and the horse hair coming out of the pads on the seat, that Stiles was constantly threatening to throw away, or burn, had been pulled in front of the fire so that it faced the flames. Between them however was Stiles' kneeling mat, and Stiles knelt on it, gloriously naked apart from the blindfold he had tied around his head. He had raised his hands and there was a metal collar sat upon them.

"Oh, love," Derek said, his tongue thick in his mouth at the sight. "Look at you." And he was proud, he hadn't expected much from Stiles this evening, he was pissed at Derek - with good reason which Derek himself was willing to admit, "you are so beautiful like this. If it was possible I'd never let you move from this," his hand, which was thick with mud, grey and stiff with it, cupped Stiles' cheek, "kneeling like this for me." He laughed softly to himself with fondness, "and I'm all over mud, I look like a bog beast." He bent down and kissed Stiles' forehead, his scruff rough against Stiles' softer skin and could smell calla lilies and roses.

"I have bathed and waited on you," Stiles said, "I have prepared for you, master, there is food upon the side, and I await only your will."

"I'm a bog beast." Derek said, "and I need a bath." He said, he hooked his thumbs under the blindfold, tugging the red fabric away. "I cherish your service, but I am unworthy of it." Stiles was blinking up at him, there was a clear gloss on his lips, making them shine wetly. His lower lip was wobbling with it, and his lashes were dark. "My beautiful boy," he said, "come here," he pulled Stiles to his feet, and into a kiss, covering them both with mud. The collar was hanging from Stiles' hand, "do you want me to put this on you?"

He didn't even look at the collar beyond working out how to open it, before he placed it around Stiles' neck and twisted the triskelion to adjust fix it closed. "So very beautiful."

Often when they were alone, or had sex, Derek wouldn't actually shower him with compliments, they talked about their day, there were jokes and games between them, snarked asides and mocking comments, there were rolled eyes and sighs, but sometimes they were like this. "So very, very beautiful for me."

"Yours, always yours." Stiles twisted his fingers into Derek's hair, "You've even got mud in your beard," he said with a smile, "you great big lout." He was smiling and his breath was hitching, "it's a good job I ran you a bath, I thought you'd want it after, but," he shook his head. "You're a bog beast."

"rawr," Derek said, "raaawwwrrrr," he slapped Stiles on the ass with a mocking gesture, "I'm going to eat you all up." He snapped his teeth shut with a click. "So you're mine forever." Stiles just laughed and ran towards the bathroom.


	5. A little help

Stiles was on his knees on the mat, completely naked except for his new collar, which was a delicious weight on his collar bone. The room was deliciously warm, which was unusual as it chilled pretty quickly, but he was naked and warm and his dominant had his hands around Stiles' jaw and was pressing his erect cock against Stiles' lips but had not given him permission to open his mouth yet, so he had not. Derek's precum was smeared all over his mouth, but Stiles was a good boy, even though his mouth was watering, he could wait.

Derek was murmuring reassurances, promises, holding his cock against Stiles' mouth with one hand now, the other petting Stiles' hair. "I know you want to," Derek was saying, "but you can do this, because you're my good boy, aren't you, you're good for me, aren't you?"

And Stiles just looked up at him, and didn't lick his lips, or open his mouth, even though he wanted to- he really really wanted to. His own cock was so hard just from kneeling like this, just by submitting to his dominant. It had been so long since they'd had anything other than furtive couplings in the dark. There was something delightfully satisfying about being able to do this, to take the time for each other and know that this was what they both needed.

This is why he wore Derek's collar because Derek knew what he needed and he trusted Derek to give it to him.

"Open your mouth." Derek said and his voice was rough with desire, his pupils almost encompassing his iris so great was his desire, and Stiles did. The taste was instant, bitter and a little sour, thick with musk and he wanted it, he wanted all of it. "There's my good boy." Derek said with the head of his cock just resting on Stiles pout, "just like that."

And that was when Peter opened the door, "hey, Laura was looking for you." He said before he took in the scene, "you know, Stiles, you should tilt your head back a little more, you'll find you're less likely to choke like that."

"Tell Laura I'll be along presently." Derek growled at his uncle.

"Not you, she wants Stiles," Peter suggested with the leer at Derek, and then gave Stiles a long appraising look.

"GET OUT!" Stiles shouted throwing a pillow from the floor beside him and throwing it in Peter's direction. He closed the door with a laugh.

\---

Laura was sat on the edge of her bed next to Lydia, and both of them were wearing shifts with velvet robes with their hair dressed for bed. Stiles had pulled on his shirt and what he had thought were his pants, that turned out to be Derek's the instant he tried to fasten them. He had slammed his feet into Derek's slippers as well, with Derek's kiss upon his lips and the promise that he would wait. "You sent for me, my lady." He didn't care that his hair was clearly fuck swept and perhaps his lips still a little glossy from Derek's come. Derek was his dominant, why would he not serve him?

Lydia had her arm around Laura's waist, and she was holding what was a clearly a flask of a dark liquid Stiles knew to be a contraceptive. "Oh, my lady," he said with a low genuflection. "Truly is this what you wanted me for?"

"I am to marry," she said bluntly, "but yet to stop my cycle..."

Stiles took a deep breath, "I am sure my lady, that you will forgive me for speaking so out of turn." He said. "But just drink the damn flask." He said, "and I'll explain to you why, the fact that you are considering taking it means that you are going to take it, your reasoning is that you think that if you do take it then you are going to threaten Emperor Deucalion, whereas the fact that you are moving your capital and the stress of the wedding means you are far more likely to miscarry, which would threaten both countries. So the best thing you can do is drink the flask, then go to Deucalion's room and tell him that you have done it, and tell him you have done it because of the worries that you have. That's the thing you need to understand, if you do this in secret then you're fucked and the wedding will collapse and your war will be on two fronts. However if you do this with his knowledge then no one can question it."

Lydia laughed, "I told you," she said, stroking Laura's hair in a mollifying gesture, it was supposed to be comforting, "that he would say exactly the same thing I told you." Laura took a deep breath and then uncorked the flask.

"If that is all that you wished of me, my lady, might I return to my dominant, I was in the middle of something when I was interrupted." Stiles grated out, he had not wanted to be interrupted just to repeat what Lydia had clearly said.

"One more thing, submissive." Lydia said, "before I too return to my bed."

"If you wish me to ask you to flay your husband for looking upon me at service without my dominant's permission I heartily give it." Laura laughed to herself.

"Actually no," she corrected him, "although I am sure that it was quite the sight, and your dominant is right to be possessive of such a wonder, but I wished to ask you about the Accords."

"The Accords?" Stiles asked, because that surprised him.

"In the ballads about your love affair with Derek, you are said to have read him The Accords of Tamur Lin, is that true?" She was stroking Laura's hair in long measured pulls, like she was brushing it.

"She left us nothing but the Accords," Stiles said, "she thought that I couldn't read them, but my mother was Gyptian and so I could, when Derek was sick, I read them to him, is that in the songs now?" He rolled his eyes in a gesture that was pure Derek, "will they give us no privacy? Perhaps, my lady Lydia, when you flay your husband you do so with the sharpened edges of the fingers of the balladeers."

Lydia's laugh was delightful, causing her robe to fall open more but Stiles' eyes did not drop from her face. "Good, I have only read the Accords in common, but yet Laura has not read them at all."

"They are merely the promises of the godking to his concubines." Stiles protested, the Accords were in some cases explicitly sexual, and in others beautifully romantic and sweet. It was not uncommon for lovers to read the Accords in the past, it had just fallen out of favour.

"And his wife." Lydia corrected, "or at least I'm told it is so in the Gyptian."

"Nineveh?" Stiles asked, surprised then.

"Nineveh the bloodless, the patron of hospitals?" Laura asked then. "I,"

Stiles shook his head, "Tamur Lin married Nineveh to secure Gyptia." He said, "she wasn't sexless if you read the Accords, he loved her dearly, he took his concubines to secure other kingdoms but he loved Nineveh, but not sexually, not like Tisiphone." He started to scratch at his head, "right, I better start at the start," his hand fell to the scar on his throat, the left over from Kate Argent's hold over him. "Tamur Lin was a shepherd, he was wronged over his first wife, Arai, she was taken by a roaving band who raped and murder her, he gathered an army to avenge her and then got caught up in it's momentum, armies do that apparently. He captured Trebizond and made move towards the three states of Epirus, Komnenos and Ordu. Terrified that their joined city states would be ravaged they approached him and offered him the most lovely daughters of their kings, Alecto, Megara and Tisiphone." Laura knew that story, that of the three concubines who were the Mothers of Dynamic. Alecto had been the first dominant, Megara the first switch and Tisiphone the first Submissive, and in their temples any unbonded could find surcease. "This secured his empire, but then he met Nineveh, Queen of Gyptia, a scholar and a sensualist. She bound him with riddles and knowledge and perfumes, when he offered her a place in his bed as his concubine she refused him, and refused him again. For her kingdom she married him but she never gave him access to her bed."

"Why?" Laura asked.

"she didn't desire him enough to share him." He said, "although some of the letters are between Nineveh and Megara, not just about such things as medicine, but the best way to bring a woman to orgasm with the tongue." He stopped, "her letters are very explicit, I don't know why they are scrubbed from the Accords, when Tamur Lin's descriptions of the proclivities of Tisiphone are worse."

"The temple of Nineveh isn't just a hospital," Lydia corrected, "you have no submissive and yet you get your dominant urges ruling the kingdom, but when was the last time you were touched with the intent to be honoured, not just sex, but you have no ladies to brush your hair, and the temple of Nineveh will provide that, because that is what Nineveh did, she would not lie with Tamur Lin because she had a lover, but yet she went to her knees for him to relieve his tension, she bathed him and washed his feet with her hair. Go to Deucalion," Lydia said, "and I'll gather you some ladies tomorrow, good submissive girls from good families to help with your dress like Stiles does with his dominant, and tell Deucalion that you are taking a contraceptive and why, that after your capital is moved that you will stop."

"Am I being silly?" Laura asked.

"You are the alpha," Stiles corrected, "and alphas are never silly, they have doubts for which they ask answers, answers we have given. Now, might I please, return to my dominant, your uncle disrupted me at service and I'm" he rolled his shoulders, "rather eager to get back."

Lydia laughed, "and I will have to appease my husband if Stiles' beauty has driven him mad. Go to Deucalion now, Alpha, perhaps he too shall serve, distracted as you are at the thought of Stiles' beauty."

"Lydia," Stiles hissed, "I serve her brother."

"But your beauty is so distracting," Lydia teased, "I am out of my mind with distraction, oh how can I cope without knowing your beauty? I shall have to weep into my pillow, how shall I live, dear Stiles, without the knowledge of your skin."

\---

Derek was sat in front of the fire wearing a robe w  
ith his feet bare, drinking wine, when Stiles re entered their room. "Thank you, great moon spirit," Stiles breathed, as he wrapped his arms around his dominant, "I was scared you'd gone to bed, I was gone so long."

"I told you, love, that I'd wait, even if it meant waiting all night." He said, turning his head back to kiss Stiles, "but the bed did look enticing."

Stiles laughed, "I missed you," he said into Derek's mouth.

"Do you still want to do this?" Derek asked, with another lingering kiss.  
And Stiles laughed, "oh, hell yes, how do you want me, master?"

  
Derek growled, "I have an idea." He said, "I want you naked, and to go into the bathroom and wash, but do not prepare yourself, and then when you've attended to these things, return to me, and kneel at my feet."

Stiles smirked at that, choosing his words carefully, "As you wish," he said using the words that Nineveh had used in the Accords, words he had used with Derek when they were still finding their way around this thing between them after the time in Gevaudan and then in the Temple of Nineveh when Stiles was healing. They were words that were old fashioned and considered not submissive enough but Derek clearly got a thrill from them.

Stiles did not take long in the bathroom, he washed perfunctorily, wiping cold water under his arm pits and over his chest, slapping his cheeks a little to bring some colour into them, before he went back to where Derek sat on the chair in front of the fire, sipping his wine. "So lovely," he said as Stiles crossed ot him with his head bowed, and dropped to his knees. "I would keep you there forever, just for me." Derek said, "because you never look so beautiful as you do when you look at me like that."

Stiles blushed and Derek tipped his head up, before dipping his own down for a kiss. "I am going to spoil you," he said, "make you so happy, that you'll wear my collar with such pride that even Tisiphone will be envious and the Moon Spirit will hear you, do you want that?"

"As you wish," Stiles said although the words were thick and heavy in his mouth.

"I am going to blind fold you, and then I will lead you to the bed, I am going to tie you to the headboard, do you want this?"

"As you wish." Stiles said. From the pocket of his robe Derek pulled a strip of cloth, thick silk embroidered with camellias, with a leather buckle stitched into place that it could be fastened. It was new, they had always used a wool blindfold before. Derek had clearly planned this enough to have the new blindfold custom made. Stiles leant forward and felt the cool rough silk against his skin, his eyes closed before Derek buckled it tight into place.

Derek's hands were rough skin against his wrists as he pulled him standing. Stiles moved with a flowing gesture up to his feet as Derek guided him to the bed. This was submission according to the Accords, the knowledge that no matter what happened your dominant was there to catch you, that trust that existed with no more evidence needed than a collar that could be removed at any time. It was not the sex or the need to obey, it was the belief that this person knew what was best for you and would do their best to provide it.

Submission was trust, and Stiles knew that. 

So he didn't object when Derek put his hands on Stiles' ankles and lifted him up unto the bed. He just let himself be manhandled as Derek pressed a kiss to each wrist before wrapping the rope around both wrists and pulling them up above his head. If he was binding them together, Stiles thought, he'd want to turn him, at least once, otherwise each wrist would have been fixed to the bed directly. "You're doing so well," Derek told him, placing a kiss on the tip of his nose, "and are so beautiful, I don't know how I got so very lucky." He silenced Stiles' usual self deprecation with a kiss, dipping his tongue inside as he used his hands to shuck off his robe, letting it fall on the floor beside the bed. "Now," he said, after he pulled away, still sucking on Stiles' lower lip, "don't come until I say, you can talk, beg, scream, I'm not going to gag you, love, but I don't want you to come until I say." He lowered his mouth to Stiles' left nipple, giving it a nipping little bite. "I thought about using ear plugs, but then I decided, no," he laved the nipple with the flat of his tongue, "I wanted you to hear, I wanted to tell you what I was doing, because it would give you," he nipped again, this time the other nipple, "something to focus on, something to stop you from coming too soon."

He reached down and lifted one thigh, guiding Stiles to raise his leg with the flat of one foot, and then the other, running his palm up his thigh. "I'm going to open you up, and I want to hear you, Stiles, but no words." Stiles breath was already shuddering as Derek's other palm cupped his left ass cheek. Derek moved down between his thighs and Stiles grunted lifting his ass, waiting for Derek's mouth, but instead of touching him, Derek just laughed, then bit down on the muscle of Stiles' thigh. "You're such a good boy," Derek rested one hand on the flat of Stiles' stomach to hold him down, then kissed the very crown of his erect cock, "my good boy."

Stiles groaned, when Derek moved, reaching down to the bottom of the bed where there was a small table where he had laid out his supplies. He came back a few moments later, pressing a kiss to Stiles' knee. Then he made a hmming noise, "this isn't going to work, I need you to roll over unto your front for me, love," Stiles hurried to obey, doing everything he could not to knee Derek in the face, and then back unto his knees so that his ass was raised. "My good, good boy." Derek kissed the raised skin there, pebbled with gooseflesh and anticipation, before he bit it. "So," he bit down again, "very," another bite, "very," another, "good for me."

Stiles yelped with the finger, cold with oil, trailed down the crack of his ass. Derek soothed him with a kiss and a mumble before he pushed the tip of his finger in, then pulled it out, circling the rim of his anus a few times, before moving away to get more oil. Stiles twisted and tried to push back on the finger but Derek just laughed and moved even slower when he did. "I want more," Stiles pouted into the pillow.

"I said no words," Derek gave him a quick smack on the ass. Then quickly pushed his middle finger in as far as he could, twisting his hand. "I want you to be good for me," he repeated, "so I can give you your reward, you want to be good for me, don't you, Stiles?" With the ease of practise Derek tapped the pad of his finger over Stiles' prostate and listened to him groan. "Now, there's my good boy." Then he took his hand away.

Stiles whined. He couldn't see what was happening, he just knew that Derek had taken away his hand, "You'll like this," Derek told him and then there was something pushing at his ass, harder than a finger, and more sculpted, a plug, he realised, that pushed in, stretching him slowly as Derek worked it in and out, before he pushed it as far as he wanted it, so his rim closed around it, and then Derek twisted it. "My good boy." he said and Stiles whined again when he heard Derek put the oil back down on the table with a little clink. Derek kissed the inside of his knee again, dragging his tongue down his calf muscle and making a little nipping bite on his hamstring. Derek loved Stiles' feet, and would often spend time just touching them, or kissing them, or on one memorable occasion sucking his toes into his mouth one by one, but this time he just sucked a kiss mark there, and said, "let's turn you back over, shall we?"

He flipped Stiles again with the ease of long practise, noting with a pleased noise how hard Stiles was. "Do you need a ring, love?" he asked, "you can answer, or do you think you can hold it?" It had been a while since they had engaged in this type of play so he wouldn't blame Stiles if he needed a little help, what he had had planned since Peter interrupted them meant Stiles might need a little help.

"I need a ring," Stiles blurted out, "oh god, I think I'm about to come now."

Derek made a hmming noise, "then I think I better take the edge off, don't you?" he expected Stiles to beg, to say please and thrust his hips up, but he didn't.

"I wanna be a good boy," he managed, "I wanna hold it, I just need," he stopped, panting, "I just need a little help."

Derek reached over to the table again and got the ring, a small piece of oiled leather with a button that could be undone quickly. "Should have put this on you before you got hard," Derek said, and once it was in place he used his still slick hand to give Stiles' cock a few lazy jacks, "you're going to hold it for me, Stiles, because you're my good boy, you're my good boy, aren't you?" he nipped the thin skin in the crease between Stiles' torso and his thigh as Stiles yelped a yes, sir and bucked. "Good boy."

Derek crawled up Stiles like a predator, pinching the nipples as he went, then laving the hurt with his tongue, sucking marks unto his neck, murmurming reassurances and praise as he did, Stiles deserved to be praised when he looked like this, flushed and sweaty and open around the plug, with his knees bent and his legs splayed and the silk blindfold was wet with tears because Stiles was a crier when he was pushed to his limits. Was he at his limits already? Derek wondered, surely it hadn't been that long since they had played like this, had it? Stiles deserved this, he just hated everything was so busy at the moment it had been so long since he had done it.

He knelt over Stiles' face, "open your mouth, love," he told him and Stiles did, without question, he just submitted, but rather than ease his cock into it, although Derek himself was hard enough that it was hard to hold on, he pulled apart the cheeks of his ass and just held it there. Stiles realised almost instantly what Derek was doing and with a lot of wet licks began to eat him out, with his hands tied above his head he needed Derek to hold himself in place and Derek grunted as the tip of that clever tongue breached him and pushed in as hard as it could.

This was something that it would never occur to Stiles to just offer, he would do it, and he loved to do it, judging by the pleased guzzling noises he was making, but it wasn't something a submissive asked for for themselves. Derek was his dominant, if his dominant wanted his domanint demanded and Stiles would happily obey, as Derek grunted out "fuck, Stiles, your mouth," and did his best to allow Stiles the room to breathe and not just grind down on his mouth and take what he could.

After what felt like an eternity Derek moved away from Stiles' mouth, which made Stiles whine and attempt to reach regardless, his lips were shiny with sweat and saliva and Derek felt worked open and raw, as he moved back down so he was lying over Stiles, kissing him and chasing the taste of Stiles under the taste of himself on his mouth. Stiles didn't need to know yet that Derek was fingering himself open, using the spit and oil to work himself loose.

When he was done he wiped his hand on the extra sheet he had placed on the bed in preparation of this scene, and then slicked up Stiles' cock with fresh oil, lazily jacking him, "so lovely," Derek told him and his voice was rough with it, "mine," he bit down on his pectoral, "all mine."

Derek worked himself into a sitting position with his thighs open over Stiles hips, and raised himself up, one hand on Stiles' cock and then slowly sank down, allowing Stiles to fuck him.

Stiles howled.

Derek chuckled to himself and then once he was settled, when Stiles struggled to ease his breathing he started to rock, slow lazy thrusts at first, fucking himself on the boy beneath him, his hands on Stiles' ribs to hold him in place, and then deeper, sharper thrusts, with grunts and groans and protestations of love and how good this felt, how good

Derek felt with Stiles fucking him, how good Stiles was to hold on, to not come for him, not yet, not yet, and the grunting slap slap of their skin meeting and Derek's exhales and Stiles moans loud in the room.

Then Derek stopped with Stiles balls deep inside him.

Stiles howled again, he wanted to thrust but Derek wouldn't let him, and then to make matters worse as Stiles begged and pleaded Derek reached around and started fucking Stiles with the plug. He was twisting it, working Stiles open, with Stiles pinned in place because Derek was fucked open on his cock, and Stiles was crying and begging and trying to move but he couldn't. He was making such a racket in fact that he couldn't hear Derek trying hard to keep himself from coming, before the plug was pulled out and dropped to the side, and Derek moved up off Stiles cock and Stiles howled out a no, before Derek flopped in behind him, he was too hard, and too close for anything but a graceless flop, and then, holding his cock in hand pushed into Stiles who was loose and with the other hand, snapped open the cock ring and pushed in with his hips and said, "come."

Stiles blacked out with a scream, his head flopping to the side, as Derek jerked his hips uselessly coming himself, because Stiles was hot and tight and he'd missed this, and it was too much and he just rest his head against Stiles' shoulder for a moment, just a moment, and let his eyes close, and catch his breath.  
"Derek," Stiles said, jerking his shoulder, "wake up," he repeated, "you've got to untie me." 

He'd fallen asleep, the orgasm had pretty much knocked him out too, he started to laugh, moving to pull out of Stiles, but Stiles wrapped his calves about his hips with a "no" when he tried, so instead he reached up and pulled the cord that would undo the knots around his wrists, rubbing them before he let Stiles lower his arms, where Stiles draped them over his back. Then he removed the blindfold and dropped it off the side of the bed, "Hi," he said softly.

"Hi," Stiles answered before wriggling a little. "I know we need to clean up," he said, "but can we stay like this, just for a little while?"

"As long as you want," Derek yawned, "I've got a man coming tomorrow to fix the door," he said, "a better latch, and a lock with a key," Stiles chuckled under him, "and I'll deal with Peter when I see him," he was slipping asleep again, warm and surrounded by his submissive, pleasantly fucked out, "when i get out of bed," And Stiles just carded his fingers through Derek's short hair, and murmured, "you can't sleep, love, we'll be gross and stuck together and get cold."

"Don't wanna move," Derek told him. "Don't wanna leave you."

"Yours," Stiles said softly, reassurng him, "yours."


	6. Chapter 6

Deucalion, Lord of Northern Reaches, Marshall of the Eastern Plains and the Duke of the Western Forests, Emperor of everything in between and a few more things besides was eating breakfast on the cloister lawn when Stiles came out. Stiles, not expecting him, was carrying a basket of socks to be darned.

Stiles liked working outside when he could, and the day was fine, so he gathered up his mending, it was mostly socks because Derek had toenails like a werewolf no matter how often Stiles cut them they would work open the toes of his socks. As Derek’s valet this was his job to do, and he liked it, it was calming and quiet, and he wasn’t far off asking one of the maids to teach him to knit socks that he might try and stay ahead of the flood. Either that or removing all of Derek’s toenails.

So when he saw Deucalion he stopped, his mouth dropped open and he went to turn around. “You can join me if you like.” 

Deucalion was a handsome man, raw boned with a strong defined nose and a wide thin mouth, his hair was a short and messy sandy brown and he had a strip of gauze over his eyes. Stiles had heard he had been attacked but not known that he had been injured. The gauze was clearly thin enough for him to see through. “I’m, I,” and for once in his life Stiles was speechless.

“We are to be family after all.” He lifted one of the dates, a sliver of the cheese and wrapped it in the cured ham, before popping it into his mouth. “I hope we can get along.”

“I,” Stiles looked at his basket, there were things one just didn’t do and darning your dominant’s socks in front of the Lord of the Northern Reaches might have been top of the list.

“I was hoping to talk to you.” Deucalion continued, “do you wish to fetch a chaperone? I’m sure my guards will suffice, and I can always send someone to get one for you.”

Evil warlords were not supposed to be charming or accommodating, but Stiles was more worried about his basket of mending and appearing improper than he was about being ravished. He had a small knife on his person even if he didn’t have his mending scissors. “It’s not that,” Stiles protested.

“Your mending?” Deucalion asked, lifting his wine and taking a measured sip of it, “stick it under the table, it’s not like I’ve never seen socks with holes in them, I still mend my own.” Stiles fumbled a laugh, not quite sure if it was fake or not. Deucalion's lips were stained a dark red from the wine, it was an odd contrast to the white gauze that covered his eyes. "You've noticed my infirmity." He said, and it wasn't a question. "A disadvantage of power, there is always a lunatic fringe to throw poison in your face." Stiles didn't know what to say for that for a moment he sat, rubbing the heel of one of Derek's socks between finger and thumb. "It was about the take over of Nemeton." Deucalion told him.

"I thought that take over was bloodless." Stiles said bluntly.

"It was, for the most part, and the people of Nemeton were mostly glad to see us, however to place our infrastructure there we needed a place to bury our dead and permission to cut down some trees, the Elders agreed to this, and to make sure that there was no confusion and burying our dead under the Sacred Trees we asked them to mark the Sacred Trees with ropes around their trunks, like they do in the far south, to attach prayers to their God Trees." Stiles nodded, that made a lot of sense and seemed very respectful, "but what makes sense in the council room becomes a different monster among the people and it got to one group who were unwelcome anyway that we were marking the God Trees to cut them down. So one of them seduced my viceroy there, Lady Kali, and when I showed up to make sure everything worked and was in place, she threw a bottle of poison in my face. My submissive, Marin, saved me, by pouring vinegar over my head and then dunking my head in a horse trough until the physickers came. I do think she took a serious amount of pleasure in doing so."

"It's good to be king." Stiles said before it occurred to him that the most powerful man in the world wasn't to be sassed, but Deucalion just laughed. 

"I knew I would like you." He said, "but please, eat, they always give me far too much."

"I've already eaten." Stiles stammered, he had eaten in fact, he always ate with Derek in the mornings, thinly sliced cold beef with boiled eggs and butter and fresh bread served with cups of hot sweet tea. It was one of the few meals he could be guaranteed to share with Derek with his work with the soldiers.

"Nevertheless I owe you a debt," Deucalion told him, "for arranging my marriage to Alpha Laura, she had refused my suit twice before, but the argument you made to her made her reconsider." 

"It was the best solution to the problem at hand." Stiles answered. "She needs an heir, and a legitimate one, you would understand the legal ramifications of a marriage where neither of you lose control of your own lands." He knew that the way he was talking about it was overly formal but how did you talk to the Lord of most of the known world, if not being overly formal. "She must put the needs of Vlk before those of herself."

"We're to be family, Stiles, we don't need to be so formal." Deucalion broke the egg apart between his fingers, "I actually wished to cross paths with you, first to apologise for Aiden's behaviour, believe me he has been properly chastised." 

"My dominant made sure it will not happen again."

Deucalion smiled, "yes," he said, "I understand he struck him hard enough his twin felt it." And Stiles smiled, he'd used the same words himself, perhaps he could have a simple lunch with Deucalion, even with his basket of mending between them.

\--

It was Boyd who found Derek, testing out new blades in the armoury for weight, "Derek," he said, hanging from the doorway, "thank fuck I found you, I've been looking all over." Testing swords for balance was one of Derek's favourite ways to escape all the rigmarole and fuss of court and he never told anyone other than Stiles about it, so only Stiles would know to look for him there. "It's your boy, he's having some kind of breakdown, he threw a cup at Lady Lydia and has locked himself in your room and won't let anyone near."

Derek dropped the sword, which fell on the stone floor of the armoury with a heavy clang, he didn't bother to pick it up before he pushed Boyd out of the way. Stiles needed him, it was that simple.

He had to break down the door to their room, including their newly installed lock, and Stiles had destroyed their room and knelt in the middle of the chaos, completely naked with his head bowed. Derek had seen Stiles react like this just once before, when Kate had made Derek kneel. Stiles had been so angry and had no way to process it that he had torn apart the tower room where she had held them captive and then with the storm was done, but before the tears came, he had just dropped to his knees in a position of perfect obedience.

"Oh, love," Derek said, dropping to his knees in front of Stiles and lifting his head so that he looked into his eyes, "what have they done to you?"

"You never told me," Stiles said, leaning forward just enough that his forehead was against Derek's, that they were breathing in each other's breath. "You never told me."

"Told you what, love?" Derek asked, he wasn't perfect but on the whole he liked knowing what he had done wrong.

"About my brother." Stiles mumbles.

"which one?" Derek asked, confused, as far as he knew all of Stiles siblings were dead and had been for several years. 

"Andrejz." Stiles answered, Derek could hear the tears thick in his voice, like he was fighting back the urge to sob.

"I never met him, I don't know anything about him." Derek reached out and started to pet at Stiles' hair, stroking his head like he was a dog and Stiles, with a whimper, collapsed into him, wrapping his arms about Derek's neck, and it allowed Derek to put his other hand under Stiles' thighs and lift him, carrying him to Derek's favourite chair, one of the few things that hadn't been destroyed in the storm. 

"Deucalion told me." Stiles said as he pushed further into Derek's chest, like if he could lean against him just right he could become part of him. "He told me about Andrejz, about what happened, why didn't they tell me, Derek?"

Derek was at a loss, he had no idea what they were talking about, at all, Andrejz was Stiles' brother, he understood that, an older one, because Stiles had been the baby, and Stiles' family had mostly died from illness leaving just his father, his pregnant mother, who later died in childbed, and his oldest brother who... the realisation struck him hard, and Stiles hadn't known.

He had his arms around Stiles and for a second they held him a little closer, "I think they thought you knew." He said, "I can tell you what I know, but it's not much, I was just a kid when it happened." Stiles would have been too, maybe five or six at the most. "I think, because he was your brother, everyone just assumed."

"Deucalion said that they had found my dad, well, they think it's him, it sounds like him, he's going around getting people to overthrow corrupt lordlings, and so Deucalion had to put a price on his head asking for him alive so the lordlings can't find him, he said," he stopped, clinging to Derek's shirt like a baby monkey to the back of it's mother, and his eyes still downcast, "he said that he found Tara, who worked with my father, that she had been sent to carry a message to Mount Shasta but when she came back she foun the ruins of the battle, and she found Peterman, he was dead, but he had a letter for me, telling me what to do if I got separated from Peterman, how to run, but Tara couldn't find him." Stiles wiped angrily at his face with the side of his hand, "he didn't leave me behind Derek, he sent someone to fetch me and the Argents killed him, he waited for me, Derek, and I..."

"Kate Argent stopped you meeting him, she stopped us both." Derek said bluntly, "you couldn't meet him because she held us, it's not your fault, it's hers."

"I know." Stiles said, "I know that, but he's my dad, Derek, for so long he's all I had." Derek kissed his temple, "and I asked Deucalion, I asked him, why did he want my dad, why did everyone? so he told me."

"Andrejz." Derek said.

"Yeah, because of what my brother did, about how he started the war."

"That's not true, Stiles," Derek said, "your brother didn't start the war." He wanted to make that clear, he needed to make that clear to him. "Your brother was a victim, his murder started the war."

"Why?" Stiles asked, "what was so special about him? that three countries went to war over his death."

Derek took a deep sigh, "it wasn't as a person, love, it was as a symbol, when your family died he was in mourning, so he wanted to do something, that's how the story goes, although in the story everyone died," he needed to make it clear to Stiles that he didn't know the specifics of it, he only knew what the balladeers said and they weren't particularly reliable. "Your brother went to the Palamecia pass to atone. He felt guilty for surviving." Stiles knew how that felt, "and the Palamecia Pass was haunted, is haunted." He corrected himself, "there was a battle there between what is now Lycan and Argent and it was so fierce that they gods themselves intervened and the death toll so high that both sides were forced to back down, neither able to retrieve their dead, who lay there, getting angrier by the year. Neither army could take the pass and it held the two in peace, because it murdered whoever crossed it. Your brother went there and he started to bury the dead."

Derek could sort of remember, the sort of faded almost daydream of his childhood that he had of before the fire, soft things he could not be sure were real, his mother's wonder at this simple act and he couldn't understand it, even now he couldn't really understand how much it meant other than academically. He remembered his mother sending Andrejz a gift, things to make his task easier, because the dead let him lay them to rest.

"The Palamecia Pass is nominally on Argent land, and it is the only way into Lycan and Vlk without using boats, it was the best way to get in, hence the battle was fought there, they called it the Hell's Gate pass." He stopped, "and your brother was burying the dead of all those who fell, regardless of sides. The leaders of the countries heard about it, and my mother," he stopped, Derek rarely spoke of his family, "I remember she sent him a gift, I think Deucalion's father did too." He stopped again, Stiles was shivering in his arms but he didn't want to get up to get him a blanket or light the fire, he felt so skittish pressed there against Derek, so instead Derek sat forward and skinned out of his jacket as quickly and with as little movement as possible before wrapping it around Stiles.

"When Argent found out they didn't recognise it as an act of contrition, or mourning, or even selflessness," he stopped, "but an act of war, and they had him killed." He said it bluntly, it was possible Stiles knew this, intellectually, that the death of one man at the Palamecia Pass had started the war which had lasted these ten years and more. "He said they couldn't risk it being a way to clear the Pass for invasion, that it was better to leave the dead where they lay for the good of their country."

"So there was war, when the Argents came they had to by ship, the Palamecia Pass is still unpassable, worse now, for what happened, and they moved against Beacon Hills to find your father, with his support they would have had a powerful tool, even if they were holding him captive they could claim his support, so Vlk, being closest moved there to stop it, your father was valuable because of your brother." He stopped, "and at first you were valuable because of him." He kissed Stiles' forehead again, "and then I got to know you and learned you were valuable because you were Stiles." Stiles turned his face and kissed him then, soft and sweet, "I didn't tell you, Stiles, because I thought you knew, I thought everyone knew."

"My dad," Stiles says, "Deucalion said, he said if they find him, he'll send him back, what if, what if he takes me from you, I was underage, I lied to you Derek that first night, I lied and he might take me from you."

Derek kissed him again, this kiss as soft and sweet as the last one, "Stiles, your father loves you dearly, would he take you from me if I make you happy?" Stiles just looked at him, "do I make you happy?" 

Stiles pinched him hard on the arm, "of course you do, dumbass."

"and there's my beautiful boy." Derek beamed at him, "how about I get us another room for tonight, and get someone else to clean up this mess."

"I just want to go to bed." Stiles said, and ducked his eyes again. Derek's fingers caught on Stiles' collar, he didn't mention anything about it being early afternoon, or that he should get back to what he was doing with the soldiers, Boyd could cover for him, he would stay with his boy, in the safety of their bed, and tomorrow things would be better. "Am I unbearably needy for wanting sex?" Stiles asked in a small voice.

"I want sex with you all the time," Derek told him, kissing his forehead, "so we can both be unbearably needy together."


End file.
